As There Are Stars at Night
by Ista of the Dreamers
Summary: A change begins to come over Joe after he is separated from David. Will his life ever be the same? This is a story about life and whether it is worth living without love.
1. A Change

Title: As There Are Stars at Night  
Chapter 1: A Change  
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rated: G-PG13....I guess  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I never came up with the characters or the movie...darn  
Stuff: This is my first fan fic devoted to A.I., and I hope that all who read it, like it. Those who have not seen the movie may not understand some of what is going on, but most things are clear, I hope. :) Please give me feedback if you'd like, but give me a chance. I only saw the movie a week ago., so.....I just like writing, and hope to write more in the future.  
  
  
  
As There Are Stars at Night  
  
Gigolo Joe placed his right hand on the doorknob to room 186.  
  
He had been released that morning by the police almost as soon as he had been captured, flown by helicopter back to Rouge City, then to Haddonfield. By what officers told him was his dumb luck, the man who had actually killed Samantha Bevins had been apprehended around dawn because of suspicious activity. The man had confessed to the killing which made Joe free to go. There were also a few kind words put in on his behalf from a certain Professor Allen Hobby concerning Joe's help with a particular project of his which he would not give clear details on.  
  
Just make sure that that Mecha is well cared for, was the professor's personal wish, and the police had no reason to debate with him. The Professor was a man of great importance, his influence extending through many branches of the government and business.  
  
So Gigolo Joe was released, with a brand new green registration label attached where he had cut the old one away. He was fully operating, fully back in business to continue what he was programmed to do. Though, he wasn't especially about returning to his old job, for some strange reason. What was he supposed to tell the police? Thank you? For once in his life, he had found a true friend, a friend that cared about him, that needed his help. The police had separated him from the little Mecha called David, and he would never see him again. David HAD a purpose with which to keep living. He loved somebody. But what reason had Joe to live? He didn't love anyone. He wasn't programmed to love in that pure, warm, friendly way.  
  
Joe never said a word to his captors, simply walked out of the station onto the street where he stayed a long time until it began to get dark . . . and he began getting customers.  
  
He had walked up the stairs, some people noticed, with a little less bounce and flair as usual, without so much as a twist or a turn or a swirl of his black jacket that glimmered in the dark. Most people liked Joe. He was well mannered, and more than most Mechas. Some women at the motel had shivered as he had shuffled past them, and up the stairs. They reached for their phones to reserve time with their Joe.  
  
Be happy, ladies, the motel owner said with a smile. Joe's back.  
  
So now Joe was in front of the door of the lady who was waiting for him. He was stopped, but why? He was programmed to open the door. Hadn't he opened this door before? Hadn't he been in this motel before? Yes, he had, and it was blue on the outside, and creamy beige on the inside, and the candy machine down the hallway was always broken. Orga were always complaining about it, and he would laugh with them. And the window by that machine held a great view of the city. You could see the stars shining out of it every night.  
  
Joe shook his head as something inside of him stopped. His hand clutched the doorknob, it turned, and he entered.  
  
She was lying on her side on the bed, wearing a red velvet dress, head propped gently on delicate fingers. She was watching him, eyes on his every move as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Her dark hair was cut short, shorter than to her shoulders. She had had him before, or had she? He couldn't remember, or it was that he didn't choose to? As a reflex, his head cocked sideways very quickly and an old love song began playing inside him, but she could hear it too. Her lips curled upwards.  
  
Hey, Joe. Whaddya know?  
  
His voice would not come. Instead, he remained silent. He was thinking his approach through.  
  
Where've you been, Joe? I've been trying to see you for ages.  
  
He shrugged, moved closer.  
  
Was she better than me, Joe?  
  
he whispered, edging onto the bed, though it did not bring him any satisfaction, strangely enough. It was cold.  
  
Her hands sneaked to his shoulders, rubbing gently.  
  
You're so quiet tonight, Joe . . . almost tense.  
  
He merely looked at her.  
  
She laughed and lay back. It's all right, though. Somehow, the silent type suits you . . . but not in those clothes.  
  
Her hand reached for his jacket to pull it away, but she drew it back. Joe could tell she wanted something else.  
  
I want poetry first, Joe. I want sweet talk and soft words. Make love to me through your words.  
  
He sat straight on her bed, but somehow, the words did not come. Was something inside him malfunctioning, or was he just not finding any inspiration? Instead, he leaned forward, taking her gently in his arms. She didn't mind, simply smiled, allowed herself to be taken by him. His head came down to hers. She closed her eyes, ready for the first sweet kiss of the night. Joe was about to close his eyes as well, when he stopped.  
  
She lay there, eyes closed, breathing soft, and steady. Ready. Ready, Joe.  
  
What was wrong with him? He couldn't complete the gesture of affection.  
  
No, he mouthed.  
  
Her eyes opened, questioning.   
  
I . . . He finally found his voice. I can't do it.  
  
*End of Chapter 1*  
  
If you'd like me to continue, I will post the next chapter soon. Thank you for reading this! :)  
-Ista


	2. Error

Title: As There Are Stars at Night  
Chapter 2: Error  
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rated: G-PG13....I guess  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I never came up with the characters from the movie A.I., or the movie...darn  
Stuff: I'm sorry that this next chapter has come so late what with the site being down and not being able to post or review anything....Feedback is welcome for the first chapter or this one, and any other that come after! Email me or write a review-just tell me how I'm doing. Thank you for reading this! :)   
  
As There Are Stars at Night  
  
  
She was inches away from his face, and she was still amused. What did you say, Joe?  
  
He recoiled away from her, saying again, I can't do it. I can't kiss you.  
  
Her tone was sharper now, angrier. He had displeased her, so he turned away, his back to her.  
  
What's wrong with you? she asked him sharply.  
  
He sat still.  
  
But she pulled him around. If this is a joke, it's not very funny. Kiss me, Joe. Kiss me right now! Love me!!  
  
Could you ever love me? he asked her.  
  
Her face flushed with anger, and annoyance. She cried out and grabbed the phone by her bed. I can't believe this! Of all my luck!  
  
Joe didn't look at her, but he listened. What was her name again? Had he forgotten?  
  
Hello? Yes, my name is Calisha Stewart. Listen, I ordered one of your lover mechas, and it's not loving me!  
  
There was a pause.  
  
No, it can talk, it's just not talking very much . . . That's not important! The point is that it's not doing what I'm telling it to do. It's just sitting there . . . On my bed! What do you think?! Look, I don't care whether you scrap it or fix it. It's malfunctioning, so just get it out of my room!! You have the address of the motel? GOODBYE!!   
  
She slammed the phone down, got her coat, put it on, and looked at him with what Joe would have read was disgust. The music-his music-still played eerily.  
  
Piece of junk, she spat.  
  
The door slammed behind her.  
  
Joe's head jerked back, the music stopped, and he was all alone.  
  
*******************************  
  
  
Two men in white technician suits found him ten minutes later, still sitting on the bed, staring at the wall.  
  
Peterson eyed Marshall, and took out a small white stick. The Mecha wasn't looking at them, he was still looking at the wall. He didn't even appear to notice them. That act in itself was strange for a lover robot. They were programmed to respond to humans, to take awareness in their presence. Marshall acknowledged Peterson and took slow steps towards the figure on the bed. He looked harmless enough. The lover mechas weren't programmed for violence, but just in case . . . There was no harm in being prepared.  
  
Well, Joe, whaddya know? Marshall asked him.  
  
The Mecha looked at him without much interest, almost seemed to sigh, and didn't reply. Peterson came into his view from behind the bed. Joe recognized him and the other, though it didn't change his breathing or his frown. They were mecha makers-mecha specialists. When he did speak, there was neither a hint of fear nor excitement in his voice.  
  
Have you come to destroy me?  
  
Marshall smiled. No. We're just here to see if you're malfunctioning. A Mrs. Stewart called in to complain about you.  
  
He blinked. I didn't know she was married.  
  
Peterson leaned forward, took the mecha's arm, and opened it up by the wrist. He checked for any wire disconnection, broken parts, or material blocking his receptors, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Of course, if the problem was deeper inside his metal shell, they would have to take him back to the lab.  
  
Do you think you're malfunctioning? Marshall asked Joe.  
  
The Mecha's green eyes locked with his own. I never even saw a ring on her finger.  
  
Peterson got his attention. Could you listen, please? We need to take a closer look at you. Would you mind coming with us?  
  
I can't.  
  
You can't or you don't want to?  
  
Now the look of confusion was on Joe's face. What were they asking him? What were they saying? He didn't have a choice. He had to do what the orga told him to do. But he was so tired . . .   
  
I . . . can't.  
  
Peterson looked at Marshall again, a long, slow look. Then he brought the white stick close to the Mecha's wrist.   
  
He spoke very softly. You should be functional, Joe. Your mobility should be working perfectly.  
  
Joe went back to staring at the wall.   
  
Are you going to scrap me? he asked them.  
  
Marshall shook his head, stepped closer. No, we're going to paralyze you.   
  
Don't worry-it won't hurt.  
  
You'll just be sort of asleep' for awhile.  
  
As soon as we've taken you to the lab and done a quick check on you, all of your senses will be fully functional again.  
  
Joe's head bowed as they leaned forward, Marshall, holding his shoulders in a firm grip as Peterson brought down the white stick to his wrist. It sparkled, shone, then stars of black exploded in Joe's eyes.  
  
  
*End of Chapter 2*  
  
  
Hopefully I will have the time to post the third chapter soon. :) Thanks SO MUCH to all the people who have reviewed the first chapter: special thanks to Delia, Laurie E. Smith, and Lucy! ^_^ More reviews on this chapter are certainly welcome before I post the next one, and thank you so much for reading this!   
-Ista  
  
  



	3. SSIMM

Title: As There Are Stars at Night  
Chapter 3: SSIMM  
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rated: G-PG13....I guess  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I never came up with the characters or the movie Artificial Intelligence...darn  
Stuff: Joe's Journey continues heh heh. I was feeling a bit bored, so I decided to put up the next chapter! Thanks SO MUCH to everyone whos's reviewed and feel free to give me more feedback if you'd like on anything in the story. (as always) If you have any feedback concerning this chapter or any other, I would love to hear from you. Thank you for reading this!  
  
  
As There Are Stars at Night  
  
There we are. Just a bit more . . . You got it! Good. All right . . . Joe? Can you hear us, Joe?  
  
But Joe couldn't talk, and he couldn't see.  
  
He's not responding.  
  
There was a tired sigh. That's because you haven't wired in his speech patterns yet or his voice box.  
  
Oh, okay . . . Hold on, Joe.  
  
It wasn't what Joe considered to be an extremely frightening experience. For the first time in his life, he had had a taste of what it was like to be asleep, and it was very peaceful. It was comforting, warm, soft, and dark. In his life, he had observed many orga in slumber. When his customers would fall asleep, that's when he would turn, quietly step out of the room, leaving them with drowsy smiles on their faces, soft, warm . . .  
  
. . . Joe's hand shot out, groping. He gasped, mouth forming soundless words. With the thoughts of the motel, he suddenly had to swallow down pain and nausea, but gentle hands pressed down on his own, keeping them at his side.  
  
It's all right.  
  
Then the other voice said, Say something, Joe.  
  
Joe opened his mouth. Whaddya know? His words were clear and precise. The others breathed sighs around him.  
  
Everything feel all right? asked the first voice. Nothing feels numb or stiff?  
  
I feel fine, said Joe softly. But I can't see.  
  
Ah! Just a second, we'll fix that.  
  
As if a light had been turned on in his mind, Joe could see again. He saw white. A white room, and he was lying on a white table. The two men-the mechanics-stared down at him eagerly, eyes lit up.  
  
How do you feel? asked the man with the name tag labeled Marshall.  
  
Joe sat up. For one thing, he couldn't honestly tell them how he felt, because he didn't know. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't sad. He didn't feel anything at all, just tiredness, and restlessness. These things he was sure were not apart of his program, but he did not have to control them any longer. They came through. He simply didn't have to suppress them any more. He looked at his wrist.  
  
For another thing(which made him strangely annoyed) he wasn't wearing the clothes he had last worn. His shiny black jacket was gone, and he no longer felt its comforting plastic against his skin. He was wearing a grey shirt, and grey pants. Grey. Dull. No longer catchy, or . He was plain. Joe frowned. The one labeled Peterson' must have noticed his confusion.  
  
Oh, we removed your clothes on orders from our boss.  
  
And who is he?  
  
Marshall grinned. It's a she', actually.  
  
Joe was painfully aware of how mechanically he moved to his feet in the presence of the men. Again, something was different. His first few strides were simple, the next two, even duller. He no longer waltzed, he ambled. He was no longer the lover, he was the lonely, and yet, it did not seem awkward. It was as if he had never known that kind of life; never longed for it, and as if he had never listened to the music that had once played inside him, let alone dance to it. Joe shrugged, and continued walking with the men at his side.  
  
Was I malfunctioning? he asked them.  
  
The men stopped, looked at each other, and continued walking.  
  
You better ask the boss that question, Peterson said.  
  
Why? Can't you tell me?  
  
She has instructed us not to inform you of that subject. But I can tell you one thing: Of all the mechas I've worked on in my life, you are different. You're unique, Joe.  
  
  
  
They came to a door. It was large, white, and clean. Joe wondered what was behind the door, and if he would like it.  
  
Don't you want to know where you are?  
  
A slight smile came to Joe's face just because of the man's own obvious excitement. Where am I?  
  
The door opened.   
  
A kaleidoscope of morning light drowned the whitewashed hallway as Joe took his first steps down it, shining, sparkling. People were walking past him quickly; all sorts of people. Men, women, mecha, orga, all kinds. Women. Women. But Joe paid no attention to them-had no reason to-and instead looked out the large glass windows lining the hallway's walls. He was shocked. Not even the glamour of Rouge City could match what he saw then. Beautiful gardens played out the scenery with smaller buildings dotting the horizon. Fountains of silver with flowers of the rainbow. Mecha, orga, everywhere. All talking, all communicating together. Peterson and Marshall came up behind him, both smiling.  
  
What is this place? Joe whispered.  
  
they repeated patiently. It's the place of Sanctuary and Studies Institute for Malfunctioning Mechas.  
  
It's a city?  
  
More or less, Peterson said. A small one. You're very lucky that your last mistress called our number, or you'd most likely be scrap metal right now . . .  
  
As Joe walked, he felt the delicious sunshine, and he wanted to taste more of it. Their words were hollow in his ears. Peterson continued talking, but Joe suddenly took both of them by the arms, and led them outside through a small door, into the daylight; the sun and it's glow. They watched in delighted amusement as Gigolo Joe stepped onto the green turf, grass soft beneath their feet. He walked along the rose beds, and around a crystal fountain.   
  
Then he stopped and looked back at them. He felt the sunshine, but he could not dance to it. He saw the roses, but he could not describe their beauty, only feel their thorns.  
  
What did you do to me? he asked them softly, not angry, not sad, just tired.  
  
But they ignored him, faces expressionless as they led him back inside, down another hallway, and another.  
  
Marshall eventually said somberly, We were just following the doctor's orders.  
  
The doctor?  
  
Our boss. She's a- Peterson fumbled for the right technical word.   
  
A shrink? Joe had heard the slang term used frequently on the streets. Is that where we're going?  
  
She wanted to see you, Marshall said with a nod.  
  
Why? I'm not human. I have no feelings, no thoughts, no human mind.  
  
Then you should have no human fears about seeing her, said Marshall with a smile, and Joe's head bowed down.  
  
Peterson shrugged. She thinks you need some help. Joe looked up. Hey, it's nothing personal. If it weren't for her and her institute, you'd be-  
  
Scrap metal, Joe said as if he had bad taste in his mouth. It made him feel sour anyway. Did he really need to be reminded?  
  
They arrived at a small brown door marked with a gold label:   
  
Dr. Lynne Bryant. Phd.  
  
Well, I guess this is it, Peterson said.  
  
Marshall shook the Mecha's hand. Good working on you. See you later.  
  
Joe said, swallowing. What was he feeling? Anxious? Nervous? He wasn't programmed to feel that way.  
  
His hand reached out for the doorknob, turned and opened.  
  
*End of Chapter 3*  
  
I should have the next chapter up soon! :) Thanks for reading!  
  
-Ista  
  
  
  



	4. The Psychologist

Title: As There Are Stars at Night  
Chapter 4: The Psychologist   
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rated: G-PG13....I guess  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I never came up with the characters in A.I. or the movie Artificial Intelligence...darn. Also, I don't own psychologists, and I did not consult one when I wrote this chapter-so I wish to offend no one in that field. This is about a psychologist who uses strange methods, unique methods in the future.  
Stuff: I'm so happy! Since people have asked for more, I decided to post the next chapter today. Aww-this is getting to be routine. ^_^ (as always) If you have any feedback concerning this chapter or any other, I would love to hear from you. Thank you for reading this!  
  
As There Are Stars at Night  
  
The cool doorknob slid open with his touch, and he entered a room with a simple desk, two chairs, and soft light.  
  
he asked the silence.  
  
She was standing in a corner by a plant, golden hair tied neatly in a bun, wearing a shimmery blue dress, lips glowing red. Joe noticed that the lights were dimmed. Atmosphere. She blinked very slowly, staring at him with an expressionless face, then a slight smile. A smirk. He wanted to say something, but couldn't think of anything to say. Slowly slinking, she walked towards him.  
  
Hey Joe, whaddya know?  
  
Those were the magic words. He jerked his head sideways by pure habit, but no music came forth from his machinery. Her eyebrows raised. He tried again, and again, but there was not a sound. He must have froze, because Dr. Bryant smiled faintly and walked to a device on her desk.  
  
Would you like some music, Joe? she asked softly, pressing a button. It was old music, a classic love song. Joe couldn't recall the lyrics, he was more preoccupied with the woman. What did she want from him? Then she walked up to him again. He could hear her breath, and watched as she undid the tying clasp on her head, hair falling to her shoulders. She tossed it back, ran a hand through it. Her right hand moved to his arm, rubbing gently. Joe was shaking.  
  
What do you want me to do? he asked her.  
  
Her face became closer to his. What do you want to do, Joe?  
  
I-I don't know. He looked at her, and saw the dark haired woman lying on the brown sheets of her bed in the sleazy motel room. He shook his head. I came to see you! The woman was still there. You're supposed to tell me! He blinked, and he was facing the blond woman again. Her lips were close to his.  
  
I don't have to tell you to do anything, she whispered.  
  
The music was growing louder, and Joe wanted it to stop. Where was it coming from? It must be coming from him. He jerked his head again, and again. Make it stop. Please make it stop. But she kept coming towards him. Now her hands were on his face, oblivious to the shaking.  
  
You have your own rights, she said.  
  
Make it stop. Make it stop.  
  
She closed her eyes, leaning forward. You're the one who came to see me, after all.  
  
Joe backed away from her, hands covering his face protectively. She simply stood there, emotionless. The music was blaring. Joe's head jerked back, forth, back, forth.  
  
he said to her. Stop! I can't make it stop! That music! Make it stop!  
  
He shut his eyes tight, hands over his face again. Gentle arms pushed him into a chair behind him, and the music was gone. When his head had stopped spinning, he opened his eyes and saw the lady sitting in a chair behind her desk. Her hair was up in the bun again, makeup gone, and a blue coat over the dress she was wearing. She was looking at him intently, and then she sighed, leaned forward.  
  
I'm sorry, Joe. I'm very very sorry, but I had to do that. I had to see what was wrong with you. I never meant to hurt you.  
  
Why did you . . . His words fell flat, and he swallowed. His head came up, and he looked at her. What did you do to me?  
  
What makes you think we did anything to you?  
  
Joe's mind raced, trying to think of an example. He thought of it.  
  
I used to be able to dance.  
  
Why don't you try? she asked him.  
  
So Joe stood up, took a few steps, then turned, twisted, and tripped. He looked with helplessness at her. You see what I mean?  
  
Her eyes kept staring, unblinking.  
  
What's wrong with me? He looked up at the ceiling. Oh, what's wrong with me?! He twirled, fists clenched. I used to be able to waltz, or jive, or-heck, even breakdance, but now, nothing. I used to be able to say beautiful things, charming things. Women used to think that I was irrisistible!   
  
Then Bryant folded her hands on her desk, sighed with a slight smile, and said, Joe, we've taken away your program.  
  
Oh.  
  
Joe had never felt lifeless, but he did then. He sat down, arms sagging at his side, and he stared at the floor . . . or was it the ceiling? He couldn't tell anymore.   
  
Why did you do that? he whispered.  
  
She leaned forward. So it would burden you no longer, Joe. You're free now to do whatever you like. You have the freedom to go anywhere, do anything, which is a lot more power than most mechas own, especially mechas of your kind.   
  
He remained silent.  
  
Are you angry at me?  
  
Angry? How could he be angry? He shook his head, and she laughed suddenly.  
  
I think you are angry, Bryant said, but maybe anger's too strong a word for a Mecha's- he flinched- emotions. I've read up on your background. I know all about you. I know when you were made, and where, and how many customers you've had, and I know about David.  
  
Joe looked up at her, then down.  
  
Something changed inside you when you went with David, didn't it?  
  
I removed my registration label.  
  
But that didn't change your programming. It might have cut away barriers in your mind to let you slip away from your ordinary life, but it never changed anything inside you.  
  
I wouldn't know. I'm not a psychologist.  
  
She leaned back in her chair. No, you'd have to be programmed for that, wouldn't you?  
  
He bit his lip.  
  
Do you ever dream, Joe?  
  
  
  
Not even when you were with David?  
  
  
  
But he could dream. Did you envy him?  
  
Joe shook his head slowly. I felt he was unique. He wasn't like other mecha. He was too idealistic-he loved an orga woman.  
  
So he could love too.  
  
He was programmed to love, Joe said.  
  
But not the kind of love you were programmed to give and receive.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
Bryant shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk. She looked at one, then said, Tell me what happened with your last customer.  
  
Joe found his memory log. I read the address to the motel, I walked there, I opened the door, got the keys, walked up the stairs-  
  
Tell me what happened when you started malfunctioning.  
  
I . . . Why was it suddenly difficult to form words?  
  
she asked softly.  
  
I was going to kiss her, but I stopped-  
  
And how did you feel then?  
  
Joe opened his mouth, then closed it, blinked.   
  
Bryant's voice was barely a whisper. And why did you feel tired, Joe?  
  
Joe closed his eyes, and then opened them, as if he was in a dream.   
  
Because she didn't love me.  
  
Bryant sat still, then smiled and let out a heavy sigh. That's what makes you unique, then. The reason why we found no malfunctioning in your circuits is quite clear. You had absolutely nothing wrong with you in the physical sense, but mentally, you were breaking down.  
  
That's impossible, said Joe. I'm Mecha.  
  
She shook her head. That's what I love about robots. Your views are so complicated. Would it disgust you to be Orga, Joe? No, you'd say. In fact, most mechas hate orga, yet desperately wish they could be like them. If only I could convince others of my kind to realize this . . . But the simple question I have for you is: Would you ever want to go back to being a gigolo, Joe?  
  
I'm not sure.  
  
She stood up, walked around the room. Don't you see what you've become? You've gone beyond your basic programming. You no longer desire' to do what you were made for. You are tired of it, have found the flaw-because for all the basic love you gave to your customers without even loving them, they never gave any back in return. At your present state, I would guess you will never be fond of what you were originally made for again, or in that way.  
  
Joe's mechanical mind was spinning, but he managed to say, So what will I do now?  
  
Bryant looked happy and excited as she began packing the papers into a brown briefcase. We've given you a new protected registration number which is good for three weeks. You will be given an amount of money to use as you wish. We would like you to explore, Joe. We want you to see the world, try new things, meet new people. Maybe you will find something that you will have interest in. When you find what you like, return here, and we will give you new programming.  
  
Joe didn't respond for a long time. All he could think about was his old programming, and what life' would be like without it. No more dancing, or music, or witty jokes. No more flashy lights or worn out pick-up lines. Just where was the fine line between who he was, and what his programming made him? If he was given new programming, would he obtain a completely different personality? There was one other way out of it.  
  
Joe? Is everything all right? She was smiling at him eagerly.  
  
He ran a hand nervously through his hair. And what if I find nothing I like?  
  
She sobered. Then you must come back here and stay in the sanctuary until you decide what you want to do, or we will have to give your old programming back. You have three options, then. I would choose carefully if I were you.  
  
Couldn't you just make me real?  
  
Her eyes flashed to his sudden smile, realizing that he was trying to make a joke. Is that what you truly want?  
  
He nodded. If I was real, I could do anything anytime. My options' would be endless then, wouldn't they?  
  
She headed for the door to open it for him. In all my years, I've never seen a lover mecha who wanted to be real. Do you want someone to love you, Joe?  
  
He kept smiling.  
  
Some humans believe that if you truly want your deepest dream to come true, there must be great sacrifice from you. You can't have one without the other.  
  
He had stood up, then approached her and thanked her, smiling. Oh, there's one more thing. May I have my old clothes back when I leave? I kind of liked them.  
  
She nodded. Of course you may.  
  
He turned to go.  
  
  
  
He pivoted around, feet tapping slightly like the dancer he had always been, the showman that made Joe who he was. He did a few more turns, bending his legs in the air, his arms moving together. He was laughing, then, then looked at her. Lynne Bryant saw something then in his eyes. There was a realness to him, and a knowing. As if she could look in, and then touch the soul underneath his metallic skin. He was beaming.  
  
She said, Joe, on your path to becoming a real person, you might just find that what you really want isn't to be orga at all . . . but simply to be loved.  
  
*End of Chapter 4*  
  
I should be posting the next and final chapter soon! :) Thanks for reading!  
  
-Ista  



	5. Stars and Roses

Title: As There Are Stars at Night  
Chapter 5: Stars and Roses  
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rated: G-PG13....I guess  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I never came up with the characters from the movie A.I. or the movie...darn  
Stuff: As a note to all of you who've been reading this- Thank you! I have been overwhelmed with the reviews, and I honestly didn't expect that many! :) For my first fan fic I've written about A.I. , it has been a great experience! This being the last chapter, I hope to write more fics in the future....maybe a sequel to this one, even though I've never thought about it before, it's a possibility. Along with the last chapter, I've included my own note at the bottom explaining why I wrote this. In my writing, I try to use all the possibilities available to me, and all the characters that are appropriate. This fic takes a fairly unexpected turn with the last chapter, but I hope you will still enjoy it! :) Thank you!  
  
As There Are Stars at Night  
  
Mr. Joe the Former Gigolo danced down the dark street, illuminated by lamplight and neon. For the first time in his mechanical life, he was living, and he was living well. His first day as a free, protected mecha was a dream come true. He no longer had to be anywhere at any time, and he could do what pleased him and when. Stop and talk to someone, then walk around. Stop again. He could do it a million times, and never get sick of it. The colors and sounds of the city were for the first time, truly exciting to him. Detail, style, laughter, and wind. They all fit together as if in a puzzle he had just finished; behind the door he had just opened. Life never stopped, it kept on going, in the air, the sea, on the ground. He was experiencing life, and that was what mattered.  
  
Surprisingly, the first thing he did when he was free had nothing to do with travel or seeing the world. He didn't even think about buying a ticket to Europe or Asia. He didn't have the desire to buy anything, actually. So, surprisingly, the very first thing Joe did was call one of his friends who was also a lover mecha. Jane.  
  
He was able to get ahold of her through the service he once belonged to, and upon hearing her voice, he felt like he was home. Just hearing her voice gave him courage, and filled him with desire. He told her everything that had happened, and in her emotionless voice, she expressed interest in his travel. He talked with her for what seemed like hours until it was dark, and she had to go to work. Even then, he didn't want to part with her voice, or he was afraid he'd start to feel a twinge of loneliness. She agreed to meet him later that night after her last customer, and told him not to worry.  
  
He waited for her, but she never came.  
  
The next day, he called her, and asked her why she had not been there to meet him.  
  
I was kept later then I thought I would be.  
  
Joe tried to smile, but wondered why he didn't believe her excuse.  
  
Jane wasn't inadequately programmed. She could interpret the silence she heard from any living thing, Orga or Mecha.  
  
  
  
Oh, c'mon, he said in a joking manner. Of course not.  
  
You sound different, she said.   
  
Silence.  
  
You do remember that I have a job to do, don't you, Joe? I can't go running away with you around the world anytime I wish. God knows I'd like to . . . to be like you.  
  
Was she saying it just to be kind to him?  
  
She agreed again to meet him, and again, she did not come.  
  
A week passed. Everyday, he called Jane and told her about his life and his new found freedom. Everyday, she promised to meet him, and she did not come. He had begun to doubt her excuses, but that really did not matter much to him any longer, he realized. He could always see her in his mind, dark hair, eyes soft, and her body slim and sleek.  
  
He had thought about his wish constantly during that week as well. Joe had thought that his wish would certainly come true once he was free, that it was only a matter of short time. It was just something that he had look for, but none of that had happened. If he had to look for what he wanted, he had not found it. David had gone after what he wanted, and he had found it. Why couldn't Joe find it fast enough? Then he thought about Jane and David, and wondered if the feelings he had toward them could be considered love.  
  
As the week wore on, the world around him seemed to be dissolving, and his freedom was becoming dull. He couldn't stop thinking about Jane every hour of the day. He wondered where she was, and if she was thinking about him too. Would loving Jane be too much to ask? His three weeks were slipping away, and when they were over, what would he do? He would go back to Dr. Lynne Bryant with only one thought on his mind. He could picture her clearly even now and how it would be. She would lean forward in her chair in front of her desk, folding her hands.  
  
So, Joe, have you found the vocation you think would most suit you?  
  
He thought with mild amusement at what he would give her for an answer.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And then, they would quickly scrap him because of irreversible insanity.  
  
Joe laughed to himself, thought about it, and then thought about Jane. He picked up a phone . . .   
  
*************************  
  
So he waited in a hallway of the old motel he had waited in every day that week, shuffling his feet, and twirling his black jacket. Strange that being in a motel didn't bother him anymore. But this time was different. He had for the first time spent money to buy something, and he held them in his hand. It was a dozen red roses he had bought for Jane.   
  
In all his days as a top rate lover mecha, he had never bought flowers for his ladies, and yet he had been programmed with the knowledge that flowers were gifts. He looked at the roses wrapped in glimmering gold paper and smiled.   
  
Joe glanced at a clock on the wall.   
  
10:16 P.M.  
  
Jane had absolutely promised to meet him at ten in this hallway, but she was not there. Joe sighed, and looked at the clock again, tapping his feet expectantly. He couldn't give up on her. He would wait just a bit longer.  
  
A light caught in his eyes from the darkened window, and he looked out of it in wonder to see the moon . . .  
  
Piece of trash! A muffled angry shout came from behind the door on his left when he turned around. There was a high pitched scream, then the angry man's voice again.  
  
Jane.  
  
Joe did not really think, but opened the door, roses in hand, closed it, and his eyes widened, taking in the scene.  
  
A large, grizzly faced man was beating the mecha with a baseball bat savagely. The thing that really sickened Joe was that the man seemed to be enjoying it. The mecha was not programmed to fight back or run, so she simply cowered down, pleading, screaming. She was hit again, on the head this time, and she fell on the floor, motionless. The thorns from the roses suddenly cut into Joe's hands, and he dropped them blinking as a new emotion began to spread through his body like a hot flame. His fists clenched, his illusion of breath coming faster.  
  
Don't touch her, he said.  
  
The man's head slowly turned toward him, not having noticed he was there until now. His eyes swiveled from the figure on the floor to the one who had just spoken. He squinted hard at Joe.  
  
Another one? he said to himself, then shrugged, and aimed the club for another blow to Jane.  
  
Joe took a step closer and stopped the man cold with his words. I said: Don't touch her.   
  
Go away! the man barked, annoyed and intent with his dirty work. I didn't send for one of YOUR kind, I'm happy with the one I got right here.  
  
came a moan from Jane on the floor.  
  
Leave her alone! Joe cried, and leapt upon the man, punching him in the face and knocking the bat from his pudgy hands. They fought for a while, but Joe's grip was incredibly strong, his strength superior to the man's, so at last he fell. The man was sent flying across the room, and collided into his dresser drawer, then lay still.  
  
Joe rushed to Jane's side, helping her to sit up. A large gash was across the right side of her face where the skin had been torn away and the metal shone. Cuts were all over her body, and there was a dent in the metal shell along her jaw from previous abuse it looked. Her eyes flicked back and forth in confusion.  
  
Are you all right? Joe asked her gently, eyes deep with concern.  
  
I'm okay, she replied slowly, then a shudder ran through her delicate body. If she would have been an Orga, Joe would have expected tears, but then again, Jane wasn't programmed for sadness, just pain.  
  
Why didn't you tell me? he asked her then.  
  
She nearly choked on the words. I . . . I tried to, but I couldn't. I was . . . afraid.  
  
He put his arms around her, soothing. It's all right. I just wish that I could've been here sooner.  
  
  
  
He looked at her.  
  
You've changed. You stopped that man from damaging me further. Why?  
  
Because I- But an unexpected blow to his side sent him sprawling across the floor. Jane screamed again and jumped to her feet.  
  
I can finally finish you off, spat the cold voice. Piece of junk.  
  
Joe grimaced, looked at the man, saw the gun in his hands pointed at Jane, and realized what would happen if he pulled the trigger. He didn't want Jane to be damaged, so in a split second, Joe stepped in front of her.  
  
And he heard a shot.  
  
Joe didn't feel anything at first, just saw the look in the man's eyes of which he was suddenly fascinated by. At first, they shone annoyance, then uncertainty, then disbelief, and fear. His eyes widened, he swore, dropped the gun, then ran out of the room, crushing the roses beneath his feet as he left. It was at that moment that he felt something cold, hard, a shortness of breath. Pain.  
  
  
  
Jane's arms were around him, supporting. His head spun, and he wasn't certain of what was happening to him as he felt his legs buckle, and he sank to the floor. Jane went with him, pulled down, then she grabbed his arms and eased him on his back  
  
Joe felt something warm run down his body, down his slick jacket onto the floor from his chest. What was it? He would have to be repaired. Why wasn't Jane calling the mecha mechanics? And what was the clear substance running down her face making her eyes look bright with dots of liquid blue? She just took his hand and squeezed it tighter, and tighter.  
  
Joe, what's wrong with you? she whispered.  
  
His eyes slid to the roses across the room, petals flattened and dirty, even the thorns were broken.  
  
The roses, he managed to say, though it was difficult to speak.  
  
Her head tilted up, and then her body shuddered again. Her eyes closed, the clear liquid running down her face and over the metal exposed on her cheek.   
  
She breathed. Oh, Joe. They're beautiful.  
  
What is it? he mumbled.  
  
She could only shake her head, rocking back and forth, face contorted with what seemed like pain. Joe could only feel dull pain, but none of that mattered anymore. They were together, in each other's arms, that was reality.  
  
Then Joe looked at the stars out of the small window in the motel room. One star shined particularly brightly, and when Joe looked at Jane, he saw that same light in her eyes. There was a warmness all over his body then as his mouth slowly formed words.  
  
Jane . . . Just as there are stars at night, I . . . love you.  
  
He smiled then, and she squeezed his hands, leaned closer. Oh, Joe . . .  
  
I've always loved you.  
  
Then she kissed him. The kiss could have lasted all eternity for Joe because that was what it felt like, in her embrace which was warm and loving. After it was over, she slowly pulled away, took both his hands, and put them to his chest. As he felt the liquid coming forth from his wound, he looked into her eyes and a feeling of complete joy overtook him. In that moment, Joe couldn't help but notice the feel of her hand more than the pain inside him.  
  
His eyes misted and she held him tighter as he finally had the courage to look at the liquid on his fingers. It was redder than Jane's lips, and in that moment, he smiled.  
  
Whaddya know?  
  
  
*The End*   
  
  
Author's Note: This truly was a labor of love for me, having seen this incredible movie, and being completely blown away by it just as I was blown away by other movies of that year(Moulin Rouge, Lord of the Rings) to name a few. I felt compelled to write something dedicated to all the fans, and when I wrote this, I wasn't sure what kind of feedback I'd get from it. It has a very thoughtful ending for me, and an ending you can change to fit what you see really happened, and your own point of view. A.I. was such a great movie because it was centered around my favorite theme: Love. (as were so many other movies that year) and I was captivated by all of it's characters. Haley Joel Osment and Jude Law stood out in my mind from that movie because they truly captured the essence of A.I.'s world from both sides. So I wrote this fanfic for the fans of Joe and A.I. who believe in its spirit and its powerful message. What is reality? Love is reality. 


End file.
